The Looking Glass
by SnapesNose
Summary: Severus Snape re-visits a very familiar magical artifact. What he sees will send him spiraling down an emotional vortex that will force him to re-live some of his most painful memories and a future that could-have-been.


A/N _**This story is set during first year when the students are away on Christmas holiday. Harry received the cloak of invisibility and went wondering the castle to look up information on Nicholas Flammel in the Restricted Section of the library. The screaming book gave him away and Filch fetched Professor Snape and the two of them pursued Harry. The chapter is called The Mirror Of Erised and is on page 143 in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone by J.K. Rowling. (which I do not own and take no credit for)**_

 _ **I trust by now that everyone has completed the series more than once, but in case you haven't (lord knows why) be aware that there are a tonne of spoilers as the story is about Snape and his memories which don't fully reveal themselves until the very end of the Deathly Hallows. Please leave a comment! Feedback is encouraged.**_

 _ **P.s. This is my very first fan fiction and actually the very first piece I've ever written by choice as a leisurely activity. Keep that in mind and be gentle with me. I'm sure my grammar is atrocious as well, punctuation has never been my strong point. Enjoy!**_

Snape stalked down the dark, empty confines of the 5th floor corridor, black cloak billowing out behind him from his quickened pace. It was near midnight "The witching hour" the Muggles called it. Someone had told him that once and for the slightest moment the corner of his mouth twitched at the thought. It's not that it was a bad memory, actually if truth be told he could detect an air of _fondness_ about it. But despite himself he tried not to think about such things. It was absurd of course, Muggles... how they ever managed to function at all let alone procreate was beyond him.

He swept by some of the portraits that lined the wall of the corridor, snoring lightly in their frames being particularly careful to shield the light of his wand with his cold, pale fingers. The last thing he wanted to do was wake Lord Patrick the Plenty and have him squabble off on more of his many, undoubtedly imagined accomplishments he claimed to have achieved in life. One night Snape had been careless enough to wake him and in so doing suffered an entire 2 hours worth of mindless banter. He was only spared any further harassment when Peeves the poltergeist possessed a nearby suit of armor and had it throw itself off the nearest staircase, sending it _clinking and clanking_ all the way to the bottom filling the halls with a loud reverberating bang. It left him an opportunity to escape without any explanation at all however, and for that at least he was grateful.

Luckily he had cast _Muffliato_ on himself as an extra precaution, a brilliant piece of wand work of his own design (thank-you), so he slunk by easily. It allowed no outside noises to penetrate the spell's barrier which he wrapped around himself like a blanket before he took off from his dingy little office in the dungeons. To be frank it was more like a hole in the wall, lined from floor to ceiling with different flasks and bottles of concoctions he had brewed himself, each filled with a different colored liquid of varying consistency. A small wooden table and chair sat in the center, the focal point of the room. His stores were inconveniently in another part of the castle.

It was so late. He was tired and aggravated. Potter had decided to further pry himself into his business and had become so insufferable that he counted down the days that the students would be returning home for the Christmas holidays. Unfortunately, Potter being the stuck-up arrogant little prat he was had Muggles for guardians and _these_ Muggles were at least bright enough to realize that he wasn't worth the space he occupied, and so it was that Potter was to remain on the school grounds for the duration of the holiday further blackening his tiny reprieve. But tonight, this would be his one glimpse at happiness, a desolate remission from the anguish and perplexity of the task that had been set before him.

Snape shivered at the thought and if he was being honest with himself a little from anticipation as well. _Almost there._ he thought to himself. He strode through the narrow hall and took a left, stopping in front of a doorway to what appeared to be an abandoned classroom, another suit of armor stood off to the side and turned his gaze lazily toward him. Snape turned his head slightly to glare back at it, sneering distastefully as he swung himself briskly into the room swishing the door shut behind him.

Snape leaned against the door momentarily, taking in his surroundings. It wasn't as though it were new to him, but he always felt he needed a moment to ground himself before. He flicked the curtains of long greasy hair off his pale narrow face and took a deep breath. He had not realized he was holding it, but the sight of her had always left him breathless so he took little notice.

He crossed the room, passing a few overturned desks and chairs along the way, unwittingly touching their cool exteriors as he passed. Before he knew it he was standing in front of a large object that had been covered over with a dusty yellowing sheet. It was rectangular in shape but with a slightly domed crown standing almost 8 feet tall. With a flick of his wand the sheet sprang away from the glass to pile itself in the corner of the room where it would remain for the duration of his visit. His breath caught in his throat and his heart jumped to 100 beats per minute, until his chest physically ached with anticipation. Betraying himself he turned away to look at the sheet stowed away in the corner.

Slowly, remembering to inhale (albeit a little too sharply for his liking) he started to turn his gaze toward the mirror, so slowly that he could hear his bones creak with every timid notch of unrefined motion. Prolonging the inevitable rush he would likely feel once he gazed at the other-worldly reflection inside the glass, his dark black eyes first found the inscription overhead. "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi." His eyes traced the words and he felt his body give way to shivers.

He trailed his gaze to caress the smooth surface of the glass gazing into the reflection and taking in the most beautiful sight he has ever beheld -and if he could be so bold- he had seen a lot of beautiful things (as well as terrible ones). No matter how many times he came to visit the mirror, no matter how thoroughly he thought he had prepared himself it always took him by surprise at just how _un_ prepared he really was when he saw her. Her bright emerald green eyes looking back at him from inside the glass, flashing her radiant smile beneath a mop of long violently red hair that paraded down passed her shoulders to rest perfectly against her chest. The smooth flawlessness of her skin promised the softness and warmth she had always possessed, her face slightly flushed, kissing the apples of her cheeks with a soft pink hue that accented her smile in exactly the right way.

This was what he had been waiting for. She was what he had been waiting for. It hit him hard and fast like it always did. First stealing the air from his lungs leaving him hardly able to breath, and then kicking the strength from his knees so they buckled out from under him and he shrank slowly to the floor. Next the rush of recollection and regret that filled his head so full he didn't understand how his brains hadn't exploded from the sheer immenseness of it all and then finally to finish him off the wave of anguish. Cold, violent and all encompassing it would take him, wrapping itself tightly around him like a snake choking him until he could scarcely breath and when at last he found breath enough to inhale it would possess him. It crawled into his body and purged itself through his veins until he could feel it in every corner, every crevice of his being. And so it had always been since the night he lost her.

It always felt the same but that didn't cheapen the experience of it, crashing into him like a curse, blasting him off his feet. It felt as though he had been hit in the chest by a disarming spell, leaving him vulnerable and exposed. He felt as though he had made a thousand horcruxes and then fixated them on a variety of river stones that had been tossed carelessly into the middle of the ocean, unable to die and yet still yearning for death's cool embrace. He unfurled the fingers of his right hand that he unwittingly clenched into a tight fist and had it come to rest softly against the bottom of the glass as though he could pull her out from inside the mirror. His eyes welled up with tears, so thick and heavy that they filed out, spilling down his cheeks without even blinking, leaving a glint of silver in their wake. And even though he was unaware, it wouldn't be the last time.

The night he found her was the end of his life, the end of his entire existence. Telling the Dark Lord about the prophecy was in the end the most selfish thing he had ever done and it cost him the one thing he loved more than anything. _Lily Evans._ His beloved. His one true love.

He intended for Voldemort to murder James and the boy, of course, but he had promised him her safety. He never intended for it to turn out this way, if he had known he would have kept that God forsaken prophecy a secret and taken it with him to his grave. He was a master at Occlumancy after all and if he was good enough to fool Dumbledore he was damned well good enough to fool the greatest dark wizard of all time in his wake. But things didn't turn out according to plan. He admitted to himself he wanted Potter and the whelp out of the way, and when Lily found herself alone and heartbroken he would swoop back into her life. He would be there to comfort her through her heartache, he would ease her pain with his presence he would prove to her that he was a better man. She made him want to _be_ a better man.

He would do anything for her, he would change the stars if she asked him to... he would! And not through cheap tricks and disillusioned visions, he would _physically_ and _literally_ find a way to arrange the heavens if it meant he could give her even the briefest moment of happiness. Even if that meant that he spent his entire life dedicated to the cause of her smile. He _would_ have been a better man, for her. If she had given him the chance.

Snape's body shook heavily with the passing of a deep sob that found its way into his lungs and demanded be let out immediately lest he burst. The memory came flooding back into him.

That night, the Dark Lord had departed in a puff of suffocating black smoke to break into that little house in Godric's Hollow (the Potters house) and take down the child that would mean his demise. Severus waited anxiously. At any moment he would be the one to swoop Lily out of that terrible place, silently hoping he swept her off her feet in the process. He paced the marble halls of Malfoy Manor, angrily shoving the Malfoys house elf out of the way when he peeped his big round eyes from down the hall and sheepishly offered him a Firewhisky. The elf flew backwards slamming his big ugly head into the wall with a squeak and scrambled out of the hallway as fast as his tiny legs would carry him and muttering in his wake. Any moment now, he had thought to himself.

It _was_ taking longer than anticipated. Snape's mind erupted into a whirlwind of thought. _What if James managed to suppress The Dark Lord, What if James had joined the Deatheaters and Snape had to put up with his arrogance all over again, rubbing his perfect life and his perfect family into Snivelly's crooked over-sized nose. What if..._ what if. All of a sudden the dark mark seared into his skin, sending torrents of white hot pain all down his arm, it wiggled and thrust under his skin turning this way and that looking like some demented shadow that was infecting his body. It moved just beneath the surface in ripples and waves, Snape bit his lip stifling a scream and instead letting out a loud grunt. He leaned against the wall for support ripping up the sleeve of his cloak ready to try and diffuse the pain. Beads of sweat erupted on his forehead and there was a loud high-pitched ringing in his ears that cut off all other sounds, drowning his senses into madness.

At last the ringing had faded and with it the dark mark, becoming a faint splash of color permeating the surface of his skin leaving it a sickly green that closely resembled a fungus. Snape's breath came in sharp bursts leaving him panting through gritted teeth.

 _Lily!_ Snape burst through the hallway and into the Malfoys common room. Something happened in Godrics Hollow. Something happened to the Dark Lord. It had failed. The plan failed. The Dark Lord had vanished. He knew it just as he was certain the other Deatheaters knew it too. They were sprawled about the room still recovering from the shock of having themselves ripped from Voldemort's service. They lay scattered about the furniture, dry heaving, panting and sweating and more than one of them shaking violently. Bellatrix, Narcissa and Lucius were all collapsed about the dining room table, Bella clutching her hands to her chest, wide-eyed and terrified sobbing to herself uncontrollably With Narcissa retching at her side.

Snape took little more than a moment to take in the grisly scene masquerading itself around the Malfoys living room before he apparated in a billow of thick black smoke.

The peculiar sensation of having a hook embedded below the naval spilled over him propelling him instantly forward followed by the feeling of compression on his lungs and body; like he was being forced through a space that, in reality, would have physically been impossible to occupy of his own accord. Snape appeared just inside the front door of the Potter house. It took his eyes a moment to adjust from the dizzying effects of apparition, his eyes shifting rapidly back and forth taking in blurs of color instead of the homely decor of the Potters front room. He tried to start walking towards the staircase but a moment too soon as his knees buckled and he collapsed backward. It wasn't just apparating, he was used to that, but the combination of the events that transpired only minutes before and the mystery the other-wise cheery household had to offer him was too much even for Snape.

His eyes re-focused and he saw a large crumpled mass laying at the foot of the staircase. A mass that had untidy black hair and an unseeing gaze. James Potter. A glimmer of regret crossed his features before he recomposed himself, shoving a bright red hover-trike out of his way and continuing hastily to the staircase. He stepped over the corpse that used to be James Potter, glancing down at his face briefly as he passed. _Serves you right_ Snape had thought to himself and found he was angry with James for being more than a breath away from Lily. He should have been there. He should have **protected** her.

He bounded up the steps taking them two and even three at a time, down the narrow hallway to the door that stood ajar second from the left. Pictures of the Potters lined parts of the hall, mostly taken up by a fat black haired baby that cooed and gurgled in the frame. Snape burst into the doorway of the nursery eyes wild and searching.

That is where he found her. Lovely Lily Potter a broken beautiful heap in middle of the room. Her vibrant silky red hair scattered across the floor and fell across her face muddling her beautiful features. Her green eyes no longer bright, remained open in a wide yet blind fix of panic. Her mouth was slightly askew as if she had been arguing only moments before the curse found her. Snape burst through the door towards her, an action that seemed to take two lifetimes instead of two seconds. He scooped her into his arms, brushing her long red hair back off of her smooth pale face and tucking it gingerly behind her ear. He caressed her cheek hoping against all hope that she may still live, that she somehow would survive this stupor and spring to life in his arms. It was absurd of course and impossible besides, but he couldn't help but hope anyway.

When she failed to move, when she failed to scold him for holding her in such an intimate fashion - I have a husband you know!- his face crumpled away to anguish and he burrowed his face into her neck feeling her cold hard skin against his, her hair filling his airway as he breathed in the scent of her through his sobs. He rocked her like an infant trying to keep his insides from ripping him apart from the inside out, holding her tightly to his chest. He wailed. He screamed. It was a gutteral primitive sound, one that spoke of nothing but despair and suffering. No such sound had ever passed his lips like the sound he made then nor ever would again. It was a sound that could only be traced to two types of people and one of those was the tortured, (Sometimes the Cruciatus curse could ensnare that sound provided it worked long and hard enough) the other was described as the physical grief of a broken heart. But then again, what was the difference really?

They found him like that, howling into the night and still rocking her body. The Ministry had intervened and sent a crew from the Department of Dark Disasters meant to analyze and otherwise "clean up" the scene. A gentleman by the name of Anthony Fitzgibbin came upon the sight and with a little help from his comrades managed to pry Snape's long stiff fingers from her body and separate the dead from the living. One official offered Snape a Bemusement Draft and before he knew what was going on Snape had drawn out his wand and cast a mummers hex, tying the official's tongue into a tight knot and having his bottom lip bind itself mercilessly to his upper. He was excused of any charges because - "The man was clearly _upset -_ not in his right mind you know" - although he found out later that the official did end up at St Mungos for over a week and had to undergo many magical procedures to unfasten his lips and somehow disentangle his tongue.

Snape hadn't stuck around after his hex however, shakily he returned to his feet, body still violently wracking with shock. He disapparated into the night in a frenzied wave of heavy black smoke, but not before he turned his tear streaked sallow face to look at the man with a dark yet far-off gaze. There were many things in that look, torment, grief, disgust, loathing and defeat but with an air of eerie calm. He looked so tired, so broken. And somehow his face managed to pull off all of these emotions at once. It was the most peculiar look he had ever composed and it left the Ministry official frozen with terror.

Swallowing hard Snape lifted his head from the cool stone floor. He must have nearly blacked out from the reminiscence of that painful night. He was exhausted, the memory had sapped the energy from his body and left him feeling chilled to the core. He rubbed his temple wearily trying to clear his head.

Snape peered back into the reflective surface of the mirror, once again taking in her beauty longing desperately to feel the warm touch of her hand on his, or the song of her voice as she talked to him enthusiastically about some silly book she had pulled from the library one mundane afternoon.

It took him a moment to take-in the other figure that had presented itself on the other side of the glass. Or maybe it had been there the whole time? He couldn't be certain.

As it turned out it was a second Severus, but _this_ Severus was well put together and bursting with confidence. An annoying trait that admittedly stirred a small sense of jealousy within him. He had a slightly more muscular build that accentuated the sleek black suit he wore in place of Snape's ragged old cloak filling it nicely. His greasy black hair was now cropped short and was done up with wizards insta-style gel and no doubt a pricey hair luminance potion. Snape could practically smell the cologne and after-shave the anti-Severus likely dowsed himself with every morning.

He watched enviously as the anti-Severus smoothly wrapped an arm around counter-Lily looking like an advertisement from Madame Maxime's Fashion Weekly. It took Snape a while to really understand why this other Severus made him feel so resentful. Aside from the obvious physical differences he possessed (and a few characteristic ones as well) _this_ Severus was...happy. The Snape from the mirror sported a handsome full toothed smile that looked quite out of place on the **real** Snape, a living contradiction. This was the man Lily wanted, this was the man Snape had hoped he could be.

There was a time back when they were young before Slytherin, and before Hogwarts Snape thought he could be the kind of man she desired. He remembered long lazy summers by the pond in the outback, lying in the grass, the blades tickling their skin. The sun would blaze down on them, toasting her skin to a light golden brown. His on the other hand would reject any solar influence, leaving it as sallow and pale as the day he was born.

She told him of Muggle matters, and had tried to explain what _fishing_ was. It was a strange practice. She brought some line from her shed and tied two hooks onto a large tree branch they had found near the willow tree. She handed it to him expectantly. -"you need to throw it in the water, and then when a fish bites the end of it you pull it back to shore"-. Snape took the branch from her outstretched hand and stared at it with a slight frown. -"Go on"- _okay_ Snape thought. He drew back his arm and hurled the stick as hard as he could landing it smack dab in the middle of the pond with a _splash._ Snape turned back to her triumphantly only to realize she was on the ground in gales of laughter. He didn't even mind, because that was the first time he had heard her laugh and it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

In return he had told her about Hogwarts, and how they would certainly end up in the same house together. He explained the meals they would feast on every night, magically adorning the plates for course after course until they were so full they would need a De-bloating charm to even remove their bottoms from their seats. He talked of how she would return after first year having learned so much new magic that she would radiate superiority over her ridiculous Muggle sister. But she hadn't seemed too excited about _that._

Since he had told her she was a witch, Lily continuously inquired over what kind of magic she would be able to perform. So, he _showed_ her. After all, the ministry of magic doesn't enforce the underage magic law before first year, since young witches and wizards were prone to random spurts of magical ability. The place would be overflowing with paperwork and the Department of Restriction of Underage Magic would never sleep. It would be chaos.

He showed her simple things, useless parlor tricks really. He didn't know any _real_ spells either, being an uneducated wizard boy of only 11. He had attracted a flock of monarchs and made them flutter above their heads forming a small capital letter "L". He had taken a drop of morning dew from the grass, expanding it until it was as big as a crystal ball, and the light skidding along the surface of moisture flashed with an abundance of color. He took a seed he had found in the shallows, placed it in the palm of her hand and mustered enough strength to have the little sprout inside crack the rough outer shell, springing it to life in her palm. That one had been her favorite. It was worth it every time to see her amused awe-struck expression. Those were the moments he had made her happy.

He could remember with clear reverence that one exquisite day he had stolen her kiss. They were chatting away the afternoon as they normally did, she had scrambled up the willow tree and lay sprawled across a low hanging branch, twirling a wildflower in her fingers as Snape leaned against the trunk below. She was talking excitedly about love and romance as girls often do, fantasizing about her future husband.

-"Severus?"- she had asked suddenly.

 _Yes?_

 _-"_ What do you think it will feel like?"-

 _What, will what feel like?_

-"You know, a kiss-" She said in a matter of fact sort of way.

His mind was whirling with the possibility and of course he pounced on the opportunity. It had presented itself after all and he had thought about kissing Lily Evans more than a couple times before.

 _You could kiss me_ Snape had suggested, trying to act indifferent but still inviting. He just hoped she couldn't detect any desperation in his voice. His palms had become slick with sweat.

She giggled. -"You really mean that Severus?"-

Heart beating faster now.

 _Yes._

The silence was deafening. He tried to imagine the inner clockwork of her mind as it worked through the situation. He started to panic, thinking maybe he had said too much and she would call him stupid for even suggesting such a thing. She would call him a "Freak" like her Muggle sister, and never talk to him again. She would-

-"yeah, alright"- she chimed suddenly.

 _Wait, what?_

Heart stopped.

Before he could process what just happened she had jumped off the willow branch to land softly on her feet in front of him. He had no time to prepare, neither mentally or physically. She crouched there in front of him with her hands on his knees.

Heart racing.

She brushed his shaggy black hair off his face and before he knew it she had leaned into him, her lips pressed softly against his. It was the most wonderful moment of his life and remains so to this day.

Then she met Potter. That stupid, arrogant, cold-hearted twat. _Damn him to hell._ Snape was 10 times the man that Potter was. How could she have chosen such a vile excuse for a wizard? He could change to suit her tastes if that was her desire. He would cut his hair, he would develop a sense of humor and make her laugh, he would reign in his temper, he can control it, he would even learn how to smile. Anything. Anything at all. If it was for Lily Evans it was worth it. If she had just given him the time of day...

 _I'm falling apart Lily_ he thought to himself, _and I'm so tired._

One morning after the murders Snape dragged himself to school letting himself into the Senior Staff Room on the second floor. The faint scent of Firewhisky still permeated his clothing from the night before. He had muttered a greeting to his fellow co-workers and opened the closet to hang his cape. There he saw a most unusual sight.

A large fleshy mass sat in the center of the closet, it's skin was a suffocating pale blue that glistened in the light. A thousand tiny diamonds danced from inside its body like a fresh blanket of snow on a sunny day. It had gargantuan black eyes that blinked from outside to center like a cat's pupil. It's smooshed in nose and flattened ears decorated the otherwise formless heap. It's heart pumped briskly in the bulk, visible through it's translucent skin. _Bloody hell!_ Snape had never seen anything quite like it before. He tossed his cape on top of the creature slammed the door shut and continued on to the staff room table. _What in Salazar's name was that thing?_

Just then Professor Trelawny strolled into the staff room, shaking the morning cold from her shawl as she strutted to the closet. Snape heard a loud scream and rose immediately from the table to see Trelawny cowered on the floor in terror as a ferocious looking black dog barked mercilessly baring it's fangs, drool dripping from it's muzzle. -Ridikulus!- A boggart. A boggart?

It took Snape awhile to realize what he had witnessed. As far as he knew no wizard had ever seen an un-transformed boggart before. At least not to his recollection. You see, ever since Lily Potter's demise Snape was no longer afraid of anything. His worst fear had already come to pass and with that out of the way there was nothing left but regret. He was not afraid of the Dark Lord returning to power, he was not afraid of the Dementors kiss, or Azkaban prison in fact he was no longer even afraid of death. If truth be told he would most surely welcome it.

The only thing keeping him drawing in breath was the promise he had made to protect Lily _Potter's_ son, and it was the most bothersome burden he could think of. The boy was a duplicate of James Potter. Stuck-up conceited Harry Potter, they even looked the same. A miniature James and just when he thought he had rid himself of the former one.

He did so without complaint however, because it was for Lily. Despite what Dumbledore may think it was always for Lily. That didn't stop him from making his life as difficult as possible whenever the opportunity presented itself however. How he loathed him! That child had been making his life a living hell ever since he set foot into Hogwarts, always butting his way into his business complicating everything he worked for. This was just his way of returning the favor.

Then there was Neville Longbottom. Snape's chest swelled with resentment. That boy was so dysfunctional and dim-witted it physically pained him. Or was that pain misdirected? Perhaps it had nothing to do with Neville's clumsy demeanor and total lack of magical talent, maybe the cause lay much deeper. _It could have been you, why wasn't it you? If you had only been the one to die she would still be here. She would be alive._ But some truths are hard to accept. From the Longbottom boy's performance however, it was clear to Snape there was no doubt that Voldemort had made the correct assumption when he attempted to claim Harry Potter for his own.

A dark shadow cast itself across the confines of his consciousness. Moodily he ran a hand across his face, his black eyes brimming over with tears.

"It hurts, it hurts so bad" he muttered softly to the mirror.

Defeated and utterly exhausted Snape broke down into quiet gasping sobs, his shoulders shaking. His leg started to ache where the beast had bitten him, and he rubbed absentmindedly at the bandages. No one cared about his feelings, what he's been going through, and _least_ of all Dumbledore. He may be described as the greatest wizard in the world but he sure could be a cold-hearted old prat - incapable of protecting anyone. Blackmailing him and using him as a pawn in his diabolical plan.

Snape continued gazing into Lily's eyes as she crouched down in front of him from the mirror. Her hand pressed up as far as the image would allow her as if she could physically touch the Snape that sat crumpled on the floor in front of her. He inhaled sharply.

Heart beating faster now.

Snape pressed his hand against the glass over the reflection of Lily's, as though they were physically able to touch. _So close, she was so close_. Only a mere quarter inch or less separated the two from actually contacting one another. Keeping him from feeling her warmth. His chest ached with longing and the cruel indignity of the scene.

Lily turned the tiny bundle of cloth she had been holding to her chest over to Snape just enough for him to see. Had that been there the whole time? Snape couldn't remember. The anti-Severus was in the background performing masculine poses that would make Gilderoy Lockhart swoon with envy, undoubtedly trying to win back Lily's attention. It's what he would have done...well maybe with less dramatic flare but the intentions were the same.

A tiny face peered at him through the ball of clothing. Small, pink and perfect. The infant had fiery red hair and green eyes. She was breath-taking, she looked just like her mother. Oh Snape was in there enough for her to pass as his daughter I suppose. Narrow chin, fair complexion and although the eyes were green they were very deep set and profound, the perfect blend of Severus Snape and Lily Evans. Their daughter. His daughter.

Lily beamed proudly at him flashing that flawless smile. Snape's breath caught in his throat before his face gave way to sorrow and he began to weep again.

His family. Their future. She was literally holding it in her hands. Had Lily done him the honor of being his he would have been the best damned father there ever was. They would name her Roslynn or Rosnya or something cliche like Rose or Camila or Amaryllis. He would be there for her through everything, from her wobbly first steps to her slurred first word. He would teach her how to ride a broomstick and comfort her when she fell and skinned her pudgy knees. He would tuck her into bed at night, reading her _Bappity Rappity and The Cackling Stump_ by lumos light, or by floating candle when she was old enough. He would sit in the stands for her very first Quidditch game, and even though he despised the sport he would paint his pale skin with team colors and enchant large banners that shouted upbeat words of encouragement.

Then she would come home at the end of the school year, waving her Young Witches And Wizards Declaration of Education parchment in the air excitedly. Beaming as every grade was an exceeds expectations grade level or higher, except for potions where she would get an Outstanding. She was her fathers daughter after all.

He would be there to intercept her first boyfriend, making sure to proclaim him unfit to date her and everyone after that. He would be there during her first heartache, buying loads of chocolate frogs and licorice wands as she sulked away in front of the hearth, her head in his lap. And finally when she was ready he would give her away at her wedding, making a speech or two throughout the evening events riddled with embarrassing stories and amusing anecdotes of when she was a little girl. He would be there when she had her first child, his first grandchild, and he would be set to do it all over again, the next generation over.

By then he would have prevented Quirrell from conducting his silly little scheme to raise The Dark Lord, crushing every hope there was of him ever returning to power. The ministry of magic would be so impressed with the role he had to play in the prevention of the greatest wizarding war this world had ever seen that they would pay him handsomely for it. He would be offered a position as a high class executive within the ministry and earn a small fortune. He would earn enough money to retire early and spend his days at home with Lily and Roslynn or Rosnya or ...whatever and their grandchildren. He would be happy. He would! And he would be the very best family man there ever was, even greater than the alleged Arthur Weasley.

Snape went through their entire future together in a matter of moments, playing it through more than once in fast forward. And all it took was the slightest glimpse of Roslynn's pudgy face to send it all barricading through the perimeter of his mind, flooding his imagination and sweeping through it like a hurricane. Their future, Snape and Lily's future...a future that would never exist. A child he somehow lost yet never had. It was enough to drive any man insane. But then again many before him had wasted away in front of the mirror. It was a dangerous magical artifact and yet here Dumbledore was parading it in an unlocked, unguarded area of the castle to complete yet another part of his plan. He knew Dumbledore hoped the Potter boy would find the mirror, but Dumbledore rarely told him much of anything and for the time-being he hadn't the slightest notion why he would want to expose a boy so young to such dark magic.

Snape gaped at his impassable future flaunting itself in front of him like some sick paradox. He knew he was just prolonging his suffering but he was powerless against it's sadistic charm. This was the closest thing he could get to the unattainable fantasy that, until just recently, he had only ever dreamed of.

When Snape helped Dumbledore to re-locate the relic on the 30th October it was the first time he had seen her elegant face since the day the Ministry ripped them apart in the Potters nursery. She looked so delicate, so full of life. He knew he had to see her again. He came to her that same night and had continued to come to her almost every night since. He always told himself this was the last time. It would only be just this once. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into three times, and so it continued until he lost count. But when it came down to it there was only her.

 _I can't...I can't, no more please._

Breaking point.

This was it. It can't go on. Every time he came here he flung himself into a relentless vortex of despair. The black hole that latched itself to his soul with the life of his beloved grew and grew from the pit of his stomach, enveloping him in a veil of torment that ripped him apart at the seams. Every piece of him hurt. Every piece of him burned. If he was destined to live his life forever in this epitome of pain he would gladly endure a life time under the Cruciatus curse in exchange. Nothing could be worse than what he was feeling now.

Snape hugged himself tightly and keeled over on the floor in agony. _I can't. I won't. This will be the last time_ he promised himself. Beads of perspiration fell heavily from his brow, his skin hot with fever. He reached his limit, any moment now he was certain he would split in two. He bit his lip to choke back the scream of sorrow that threatened to escape his lips.

"AHHHHHHGGGGHHHH!"

Snape's head snapped up. _What in Salazar's name was that?_

The blood-curdling shriek resounded through the castle corridors, reverberating off the walls filling the hall with such a commotion it woke the portraits that had been sleeping soundly in their frames. Snape heard a gruff voice echoing from up the hall. It sounded faintly like Filch.

Snape rose wearily to his feet, his whole body was shaking from exertion. He slicked his hair back off of his sweat soaked face with one unsteady hand. He took one last pining look at Lily on the other side of the mirror, cradling Roslynn in the crook of one graceful arm still wearing that dazzling smile. Straightening his cloak he attempted to compose himself before stumbling to the door to assist Filch. Hesitating briefly at the threshold he eventually whisked around and walked briskly out the door.

Filch met him half way up the hall, brandishing a broken lantern anxiously in front of him Mrs. Norris at his heels. He looked like some demented old chimp the way he waved his arms to emphasize the severity of the crime and how he half-ran half-walked with it outstretched in front of him, his knees spread slightly to either side to avoid hitting the wreckage as he advanced towards him.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library- Restricted Section."

Snape regained his composure.

"Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

He and Filch took off down the dark corridor to apprehend the culprit.

He stalked down the dark, no-longer empty confines of the 5th floor corridor in hot pursuit having been spared from his misery. The darkness that crept inside him had already begun to dissolve and it hollowed out his bones leaving him with a familiar feeling of emptiness. He realized with a pang that he had already begun to _miss_ her. The crisp outline of Lily's features that he so desperately clung to began to shift and fade. The curve of her hips, the smooth slenderness of her arm, the shape of her smile or the whiteness of her teeth. All the details began to blur from his mind until he was left with the dim disillusionment of a memory. He had to see her again.

 _Until tomorrow, my love._ He thought as he marched on through the darkness.

Epilogue

Snape went back the next night to visit the mirror of Erised.

On the way he nearly walked in on Harry Potter who had also become transfixed with the mirror.

Dumbledore intervened.

His blue eyes were filled with sadness when he saw how the mirror had been affecting Snape.

He placed a hand on Snape's shoulder apologetically and proceeded into the empty room to talk to Harry.

The mirror was moved that same night.

Dumbledore requested transfiguration teacher Minerva McGonagall to assist him with its relocation.

Snape never saw her again.


End file.
